


The Seventh

by Silberias



Category: Jodhaa-Akbar (2008)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Reincarnation, F/M, reincarnation with a twist, sort of a groundhogs day twist I guess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-17
Updated: 2019-02-17
Packaged: 2019-10-30 06:11:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,662
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17823386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Silberias/pseuds/Silberias
Summary: Jalaluddin Mohammad Akbar dies after drinking contaminated river water--and he opens his eyes to see that he must, as five others of 'himself' have had to do, watch his next life unfold. It is like knowing the beats of a song but not the words.





	The Seventh

**Author's Note:**

> Okay I watched Stardust on Friday night and couldn't get this idea out of my head all day today. So here we go! 
> 
> Basically Akbar comes back as a peanut gallery style ghost and meets some alternate versions of himself who are also stuck this way until Movie!Akbar's own life story plays out. 
> 
> I apologize for any typos and random stuff, I am very tired and I want to post this so I stop tinkering with it. I appreciate you reading it!

He did not open his eyes but a return to consciousness let relief flood him--the fever had receded, as had the abiding and full-body ache that had consumed him the last few weeks. The gravity of his mistake, for it had been a mistake, in drinking the river water had not made itself known for a few days but afterwards...weeks of hell nipping at his heels.

Yet--where were his attendants?

His children, his grandchildren? His wives?

Finally he opened his eyes and took in the tableaux before him. Emperor Akbar wracked his memory for where he had seen this field, heard these cannon, and was rewarded soon enough.

The battlefield where he defeated the King of Mankeshwar--the thunder of cannon and the screams of horses were muted, as though he was hearing them through water, but he never forgot the details of battles. It was important to make sure mistakes were not repeated and that successes were understood to know if they were derived from luck or strategy.

He had been hardly twenty, the regency only barely ended.

"You got what you wanted, I suppose," his own voice sounded from to his right, amused.

"Immortality, of a kind. What mistakes shall this one make this time, I wonder," he said in reply, from the left now.

Turning to both sides he saw himself, at various ages and states of health, repeated five times. One of...him saw his questioning looks, his bewilderment, and gave a short smile.

"The perks and downsides of marrying a Hindu, you see."

" _Jodhaa_?" He had been extremely fond of her, sentimental that she was the mother of his eldest son, but how would she have such power over him? Was his life-long faith in Allah misplaced--?

"I promised to wed her for seven lifetimes, and Allah will not allow that promise to be broken," he--another him--said, this one of a similar age to Akbar himself. He stroked his mustache and stared down at the battlefield.

"Every time we die we come back to the place time will begin to diverge the most," a smooth faced Akbar in his forties said, "and I confess I am most interested to see what happens this last time. Not only will we be allowed to rest but this is the last time Jodhaa Bai will sing so sweetly in the palace. We must remember to cherish her, for after this we will be parted."

The six of them watched the dismissal of old Bairam Khan, all verbalizing the feelings their living self could not. Regret, grief, a prayer for forgiveness. Then came a situation that was familiar but so different from what he remembered of his own betrothal and later wedding to Jodhaa.

"Where is Raqaiya? And Harkhan? The others?"

"They were not foolish enough to marry a Hindu," a very old Akbar said in an amused tone.

"They are not always with us, life has been very different every time. For instance I drank water from the Ganges once every month and never felt poorly. You two, however, took a single sip and each died month later of dysentery. With you in particular Salim could not seem to decide if he was pleased with the speed of your decline or frightened that you would live through it," one of his compatriots announced, a sly smirk across his face as he did so.

The Rajput king who stood before the Emperor was sly, too, for he pinned his loyalty to a marriage alliance. He was gracious in accepting that the Emperor required time to think, and Akbar could not help but marvel at the strength and wisdom his younger counterpart displayed. Power was upheld by appearances and by intelligence most of all--and it appeared that this Jalal understood how to maintain his power.

Of course, this show of capability seemed to be for naught as the young Emperor did not later on make his marriage true.

"Why does he do this? He stands upon precarious ground already, he needs an heir."

"And sacrifice the babe to the wolves should that precarious ground fail him?" one of the older Akbars shot back at him, making a frustrated gesture and stalking away a few paces. "Would this wife of his survive his death by many months as things stand now?"

"Well--"

He did not always spend time with his previous selves, he was not tied only to his own younger self's side. Instead Akbar wandered and spent his time with the Empress, or watched his mother as she read her Qu'ran, or tried his best to play some ghostly prank on Badi Ami. He enjoyed listening to Jodhaa sing most of all, though. He'd forgotten how lovely she had been when they'd just been married, and her smiles when he joined her morning prayers.

The young Emperor--for all of his companions agreed it was the easiest way to speak of their living counterpart--was trying to enjoy the same companionship. He was awkward about it though, having no practice at being married. Akbar did not envy the young man's situation, for their lives made it difficult for them to find the time to know one another. Tradition and social niceties--things Akbar understood but had always pushed the envelope on.

"Does he even care? Does he notice how I am shunned? Oh lord, oh lord, please help me. Help us," Jodhaa was murmuring now, her voice trying to find a tune to sing the words through tears as she knelt before her shrine to Lord Krishna. Akbar awkwardly knelt next to her--this woman who had been his wife in another life--and stroked her hair. She would not feel it, if he pressed too hard his hand would go right through what he tried to touch, but it was all he could offer.

The sound of a flute filled the air behind him and he turned sharply to look at who disturbed Jodhaa at her prayers--and sucked in whatever passed for a breath in this life he was trapped in. A living avatar of Lord Krishna stood before them, looking fondly upon the scene they made. Akbar opened his mouth and tried to say something but stopped when the creature lifted a hand to its lips and shook its head a 'no.'

"You are not cursed, I promise you, Jalaluddin," it said, the voice thundering in his head despite the words themselves being only a whisper in his ears, "there are as many paths to Heaven as there are people in the world. It is _you_ who have put yourself in this bind by your affection to my dear lady--this is, you see, not the normal way of living again to learn again."

"I had gathered," he managed to reply, his throat struggling to voice the words.

"I do not have much room to aid you save this, but for every puja the young Emperor attends, you may whisper one thing in his ear that he will take for his own thought. A small alliance between your lord and hers."

"She will convert?"

The creature shook its head in a 'no' once more.

"The young Emperor will convert?"

Another no.

"I may only say that if you use the gift well you will never be parted from her. I wish you all luck and felicitations." Lord Krishna smiled as he spoke and then playfully bowed out of the room, using the traditional Persian gesture of respect as he did so.

A step distracted Akbar from his slack jawed contemplation of the wall that Lord Krishna had disappeared through and his eyes slid now towards the young Emperor. There was affection and awe naked in the young man's face and Akbar stood to make space for the young man to kneel next to Jodhaa.

"I am here, my lady, please--please teach me, so that you are not so alone."

Jodhaa wiped her tears away quickly and met her husband's gaze and nodded. Her voice was just as Akbar remembered it from his youth--soft, no-nonsense, her tone firm as she explained everything in clear detail. The young Emperor was silent, taking in and committing to memory all she told him of. There had been a day similar to this that Akbar himself had lived--he had sought out a Hindu holy man and asked the man to teach him how to participate in a number of different pujas. His own Jodhaa's smile had lit the room like sunshine when he had surprised her one morning and known every gesture that was asked of him--including bending his head so she might do his aarti.

Once this Jodhaa finished her lesson the young Emperor happily joined her in a short devotion. It took almost nothing, Akbar had learned decades ago, to allow his Hindu wife her devotions and it took away _nothing_ from Allah's greatness to stand beside that same wife and let her ask Lord Krishna to bless him. A wife's devotion was the same if she prayed to Allah or Krishna--the sooner the young Emperor fully learned this the sooner he would love his wife for all she offered him.

Akbar hesitated only a moment after Jodhaa applied the vermillion to her husband's forehead and he leaned in and whispered an idea into the young man's ear. Allah had left him--and his five last lives--in this limbo to honor his vows to his wife. This time around was their only _and_ last opportunity to stay together beyond their deaths. It was worth a chance, at least.

He waited then with baited breath as the young Emperor also applied the vermillion for Jodhaa--and gave a jubilant shout when the young man hesitantly asked his wife to plan a private puja for himself and his mother--to celebrate their wedding and her entry into their family. Akbar, who had seen her earlier tears, expected her reaction but his counterpart obviously was not prepared for her to bend her head to hide a sudden sob--but he recovered well enough, smoothly taking the tray from her hands and wrapping an arm around her shoulder and pressing his forehead to hers.

"Please say yes, and don't worry about my mother. I will work on her."

"And others you love--what of Maham Anga? Your brother?"

Akbar felt the same blow of defeat the young Emperor did but he also felt extreme pride in how the man rallied. It was not to be a rout, after all.

"It is true that I love them. It is also true that it will offend them to not be included, but they will choose to be offended if we ask in the first place. I do not usually enter battles that cannot be won, I was taught better than that."

The young Emperor then leaned in a little closer and bumped his nose against Jodhaa's.

"I promised I would let you keep your traditions, and if some of those traditions require your husband I will be with you...Please say yes," he whispered.

"What happened, what happened?" the smooth-faced Emperor asked suddenly, trying to see through the curtains around the small temple. Akbar shushed him, waving him away. Whatever his other selves had been doing they had not earned seeing this moment.

"Let me know when your mother approves, then," Jodhaa said, planting her palm on her husband's chest and finally looking up into his eyes. The tentative trust that began to develop between them seemed enough to build a bridge over the ocean and Akbar could have crowed victory throughout the palace he was so pleased. Until it all came crashing down as Badi Ami arranged a conspiracy against the Empress. Akbar sat at her side and pleaded and pleaded, begging her not to insinuate such lies but she was unmoved by him. Deaf to his words. Death had long ago parted them in his own life, and now he was a shadow and a ghost in someone else's'.

Going with Jodhaa to Amer ended up being too far separated from the grounds he and the others had been cursed to walk once more--so he stayed with his five companions and mourned their fate. This had never happened to them he gathered, across six lifetimes they had never seen the Emperor send away _any_ of his wives--nor had they seen him grow angry with his Jodhaa Bai. For Akbar's own part, she had not delighted and attracted him as much as some of his other wives but she had earned his loyalty for her steadfastness and intelligence.

He spent a lot of time admonishing, in the sternest tones, the young Emperor for being so taken in. The idea that his young wife would conspire against him was absurd. The idea that she had still bided her time to act despite so many opportunities to do so was also absurd. If she'd meant to assassinate him she would have done so on their wedding night. Maryam Makani was looking into the circumstances of Jodhaa's expulsion from the palace but her movements were slow and deliberate and there was no telling if whatever truths she found would convince her son. Akbar prayed for the opportunity to help rectify the problem.

He got his chance when the young Emperor went into Jodhaa's chambers at dawn and prayed alone one morning--ending his short meditation by touching the bit of dust that has built up on the small dais and touching it to his forehead, staring at his fingertip after he did it. Akbar lunged forward and told the young man to believe the Empress when she spoke to him, no matter how far fetched it might seem.

Akbar and his five companions gathered around in a gaggle weeks later when Maryam Makani made her accusations--they waited with baited breath as the young Emperor took in the information laid at his feet. Each of them felt his pain in a way--the various versions of Badi Ami they knew would never do such a thing, her devotion never truly overstepping her bounds. She had always defended her position in the court of the Emperor but she did so without tearing apart the Emperor's marriage in the meantime.

Jodhaa's fury with her husband was evident when they arrived in Amer. The oldest of them had to distance himself from the group, he could not bear seeing his wife grieving so harshly in the bloom of her youth. Akbar could readily admit it was difficult to see her anger and sadness. He also did not blame her, for her husband had asked for her trust and then betrayed her.

He took another chance as their duel that first morning concluded and bent to whisper in the young Emperor's ear--the clash of their swords and the skill of their footwork was its own kind of devotional he decided--that to take her home by force would not accomplish what he wished for. All seven of them wished for her heart and loyalty, this last young man perhaps the most, and if he failed to respect her now he would never win her.

Whether or not the young Emperor heard Akbar's counsel he did decide he would let his wife return in her own time. He claimed he would accomplish something that would make her return under her own power and by her own choice.

"He has offended her too greatly, she will never come back. What can he offer her after the things he has said?" the oldest of them wept openly as they jostled their way home, all perched on the supply wagons.

"He can offer goodness," the first of them announced, "he can be equitable, invite Hindu holy men to the court, he can build temples to her Krishna."

"My Jodhaa Bai has never been swayed but such displays before," the smooth faced one commented, "she is too wise to fall for such meaningless pomp. He must affect the people, he must understand them in a way he does not yet."

"Do you think she will come back when he repeals the Jaziya tax?"

"How would he even know of the Jaziya tax with his wife so far from him, and Mahesh Das out of favor since her exile?"

"Might we try to tell him of the solution?"

"It has never worked before, no matter how we have yelled and cried out."

Akbar stayed silent, knowing he had had rare chances to help the young Emperor and their beloved Jodhaa Bai. What chances would he have now, though, that that great lady had not returned to the palace--her rooms and temple silent and empty. The one half-puja that he had caught the Emperor at had been a fluke, never again had Jalaluddin allowed himself such a sentimental gesture. Perhaps it grieved him, remembering her shy smiles and knowing they were so far from him.

What hope was there now that Jodhaa was still so far away and under no real requirement to return?

Hope, though, was an ever welling thing and like water it would creep slowly into anything. Jodhaa had accused her husband of not knowing his people and the young man took it into his head to escape the palace and go out into the bazaar in disguise. He took Lord Todar Mal with him as well as Mahesh Das and walked like a normal man among his people. Akbar and his five other selves shouted and celebrated when the young Emperor learned of the Jaziya tax and decided to repeal it--they thanked Allah profusely when their living counterpart made his eloquent argument to his court.

It might not bring their Jodhaa back _now_ but it would pave the way for her return. Surely she would be pleased? Surely it showed he understood her criticisms? Surely she would know the only people brave enough to complain of the tax to a stranger were merchants in the Agra bazaar, men who saw strangers all the time.

When she did return, in the midst of a charitable festival the young Emperor decided to host, it was transcendent. The people who had filled the pavilion of the court parted before her and Jalal caught her before she had to bend too far to take her blessings--a movement he was clearly still unused to, but one that his six other selves remembered vividly after decades of catching their one Hindu wife and bringing her upright once more.

It was perhaps good for their dignity that they had met in so public a manner--the young Emperor was staring at his wife with such unabashed affection he might have embarrassed himself in a lesser setting. Jodhaa was as graceful and lovely as she had always been, her steps had been sure and confident as she'd made her way to her husband.

Later they all sat vigil over the yet-youngest of their number as he fought away the effects of poison and fever. Akbar shivered with his own memories of the fever that had killed him--it had been relentless and clawed at him like a living thing. Young Jalaluddin fought it, fought as he had fought his entire life, and after days of unconsciousness he opened his eyes and asked for his wife, saying he needed her most urgently, to come at once.

Jodhaa did not even wear shoes as she ran to his side--gently lifting up one of his hands and putting it against her cheek . The young Emperor was still weak and it would be a few weeks before he was fully recovered but he seemed utterly content. Despite pain and sickness, fear of death even, he had found love with his wife and was smart enough to see it.

His six other selves watched over him and his wife--his only wife in this his last life tied to her--for another sixty years. They watched his six children grow and thanked Allah that this time all of them lived to adulthood, that their mother had an easy time with them, though of course they made sly comments among themselves when the young Emperor outlived both of his sons, first Salim and then Sujamal--leaving the heir to the throne the child--then youth--then man--then middle-aged Shah Jahan.

They watched as Jodhaa comforted her grandson after his wife passed away, loaning him the necessary funds to build the lady a grand mausoleum--and they watched as the white walls rose, and rose, and rose, and rose for poor young Mumtaz Mahal. They thanked Allah that she was able to guide her grandson away from alcohol and opium, that she taught him how to be responsible and to work through the pain of his loss.

Finally, after watching--and in Akbar's case making attempts to advise--the couple for six decades the young Emperor finally went to his death bed. His voice was weak but his words were sure when he forbade his wife to do anything rash like burn or starve herself after his death. They fell asleep together that night, though Jodhaa seemed so still--so very _still_ \--oh Allah, Jodhaa was _gone-- **gone.**_..and Akbar, watching from where he and his companions stood, heard the merry-mournful notes of a flute that seemed to--incomprehensibly--twist and twine with a transcendent light, melding what could only be heard with what could only be seen. The bargain Akbar had struck so many, many years ago with Lord Krishna came to fruition in an instant as the 'young' Emperor finally breathed his last--and in that instant all seven lives that Jalaluddin Mohammad Akbar had lived melded into one single soul at once, and as he walked into the green fields he heard _her_ voice filling the air with song.

**Author's Note:**

> Please let me know what you thought, I hope that you enjoyed it!


End file.
